Things Change
by Krissy Mae Anderson
Summary: The night before Luka leaves for the Congo, Gordana reminisces about their friendship. For all Gordana fans out there...


_"Things Change " by Krissy Mae Anderson  
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**Summary:** The night before Luka leaves for the Congo, Gordana reminisces about their friendship.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** "Things Change"/ "Foreign Affairs"  
**Disclaimer:** For a thousandth time - I still don't own ER...  
**Acknowledgements:** Thanks to all my favorite Gordana fans, who loved her as much as I did. You gals know who you are...

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Things change. We hate to see them change – we are used to the familiar, reluctant to let go of it, because things rarely change for the better. When they change for the worse, we are hesitant to accept the changes, because we remember those things as they were before, and we wish that a time machine could exist so we all could go back to the good old times, but we're firmly stuck in the present and cannot turn back time, so we have to accept those changes, swallow the bitter pill and move on, but not forget. Forgetting only makes everything worse, as I have learned many times in my life. Some things should not change. Lively, affectionate, kind people should not be changed into empty shadows that only physically resemble their former selves. Children should not die. Soul mates should not be separated forever by senseless fighting. But those are precisely the things that change the most often, and at times, I want to go out on the street and scream about it, tell everyone that this is precisely what should be changed, but I know that not many will listen.

Today has been a strange day. I have seen one of the best friends I have ever had go above and beyond any limits to save a child he barely knew - and knew that he had not changed much in the last thirteen years. We have both grown older and much wiser then we were in 1990, lost a lot of innocence along the way, and much has changed about us except for our friendship. Luka doesn't look much older then he did when I saw him last time – but he looks exhausted with life, almost empty, ready to give up. It hurts me to see him like this, because I remember him differently, and this change in him scares me, because if people like him can change so drastically because of mankind's stupidity, what does it mean for the rest of us?

I met him almost twenty years ago, during a biology lecture at the Faculty of Medicine. I was eighteen, with crooked teeth and frizzy hair, still really unsure about why I was studying medicine. I was sitting at the only empty table in the room and feeling lonely, when the door opened and a young man with a grocery bag ran in, frantically looked around and threw himself down on the seat next to me. Moments after he plopped himself down on the seat, the professor walked in, and the lecture began. The young man smiled at me and winked, and then proceeded to eat his lunch during the lecture without the professor noticing, offering me bits of bread and sausage under the table. After class he introduced himself, and I nervously tried to hit on him when I noticed the wedding ring on his hand. My face must have turned beet red, because Luka was inquiring if I was feeling sick and unbuttoning the collar of my shirt to help me breathe. Needless to say, this was not one of my smoothest moves in life. After I recovered from the shock, Luka spotted the two guys who shared a room with him, introduced them to me, and I was thrust into the best friendship of my life. Stjepan Markovic, almost a head shorter then me, serious and sarcastic; Tomislav Bajuk, with a face so freckled it looked tanned and an inexhaustible source of anecdotes on any topic; and Luka Kovac – deeply caring and liked by everyone he met, ready to give you anything if you needed it.

Soon, we began to spend all of our free time together, and changed each other - Stjepan became Stipe, Tomislav – Tomo, I became Goga and even Luka with his short name acquired a nickname. His sister brought a "Lucky Luke" comic book back from her trip to Germany, and Stipe noted that the main character's haircut really resembled the one that Luka had at the time. I mentioned that they had similar names, and Luka himself attempted to pronounce the title in English, but since in those days his English accent was even worse than mine, it came out as "Laki Ljuk." After that whenever we got tired of his proper name he became "Laki."

From the four of us, Luka was the only one married. He met and married his wife during his military service, and when he had to go to medical school they couldn't afford an apartment, so she stayed with his parents. Despite having a child and being on different faculties, they managed to see each other every day - they were in love, and true love knows no restrictions. They made a great pair – Luka, lively and strikingly handsome, and Danijela, quiet and with a beauty that sometimes seemed otherworldly. Since I was the only woman in our group, I befriended her and whenever I needed to escape the testosterone frenzy that sometimes overtook the boys we took off somewhere with Jasna.

At times it seemed that everyone in Zagreb knew Luka – during lunch he would walk over to the Faculty of Political Science where Danijela studied and most of the people on the way there recognized him and chatted him up; women flirted with him, men offered him cigarettes – he was like a small-scale celebrity. Danijela seemed to be a complete opposite of Luka. She was quiet, almost dreamy, a kind of person who didn't stand out in the crowd, looking as if she was made of glass. When she was with Luka, both of them seemed to have been made for each other, two parts of one person, their differences perfectly complimenting, a kind of couple that is rare, and I was always amazed at how right they seemed together. When he was with his wife, Luka would become quieter and look at her, as if entranced. They had the love of fairytales and dreams, the perfect love only very few achieve. Their daughter favored her mother in looks but her father in character. Jasna was quick-witted and funny even as a toddler, and adored her father as much as he did her. Luka loved his daughter to the point that he couldn't resist anything she wanted. Danijela complained to me that she had to start taking Luka's wallet away when he took Jasna to a playground because if she asked him to buy something he would do it. Every evening, Luka would take her to the playground, regardless of whether he had to study, or a party to go to – the playground "date" with Jasna was never broken.

All of this explains why I am dismayed to see our Luka alone and apparently friendless, because I remember him full of life, a magnetic personality who inspired conversation, someone without whom no party could happen. Danijela certainly would not have wanted him to be alone – she would have wanted him to be with someone who could take care of him and make him smile, someone to keep him safe from nightmares. The young nurse said that she hasn't heard him laugh often, and I feel sorry for the people who work with him because they do not know the same Luka I knew. They miss so much by not knowing his laugh. When you heard him laugh you just had to laugh along even if you didn't know why you were laughing. He could make autopsies funny, and I do remember the time when we got thrown out of a dissection after the cadaver began singing drinking songs in Luka's voice. But now he has changed so much – he barely smiles, and when he does it's fleeting and sad, and I got the feeling that I was the last one who remembers how his laugh sounds like, because I feel that even Luka has forgotten.

The last time I heard his old laugh was the evening after we got our medical degrees and celebrated in that tiny room which was the size of a large closet. We were so happy, so overcome with the present we didn't even think about the future…

_...Squeals of laughter erupt from the assorted females sitting on and around Stipe when the cork of the champagne bottle Luka's trying to open bounces off the ceiling and flies out of the window. Luka laughs as well and pours champagne into plastic cups held out to him. After the bottle is empty he sits back on his bed, puts one arm around me and the other around Danijela, who looks like she swallowed a melon, which she has complained about extensively earlier when we went to shop for the farewell party. Luka can't contain his excitement – he and Danijela will finally have their own apartment in Vukovar – no more living between a cramped apartment and a cramped dorm room for them. _

In my tipsy state I stare at his face, entranced by the smile that makes his already handsome face seem even more beautiful. My common sense tries to tell me that I am sitting quite close to the man's pregnant wife who is a friend of mine, but I'm so tipsy I'm past the stage people think of things like that. And it's not like I want to sleep with him – I just want to look at him, listen to him laugh – I will miss this laugh when I'm stuck in Rijeka for my internship. We will be all over the place – I'm going to Rijeka, Stipe to Makarska, Tomo to Zadar and Luka to Vukovar. Different corners of the country, but we promise to call, to visit, to exchange letters. Tomo introduces a shy girl with red hair, Pavla, tells us they are seeing each other – Pavla lives in Zadar, was visiting relatives in Zagreb. We cheer for Tomo.

In a couple of days we will become Luka, Gordana, Tomislav and Stjepan again. We'll be physicians, responsible adults, days of suffering through mind-numbingly boring lectures and nights drinking coffee and talking about the meaning life will be a thing of the past. We will be practicing medicine – Luka and I will be surgeons, Stipe is going into psychiatry, and Tomo wants to be in internal medicine. We will get to write "Doctor" before our names, our mothers will have something new to brag about, and we will actually have to treat real patients. We are excited and scared at the same time.

Danijela looks at me strangely and for a moment I'm afraid she has somehow read my mind and discovered my dirty thoughts about her husband. These fears are dispelled as she says quietly to Luka, but not quiet enough for me to not overhear – "My water broke."

Luka chokes on the champagne he has been drinking and spits it out on me, thus ending my daydreams. He jumps up, hits his head on the ceiling, curses, falls back down, and soon there are thirteen very drunk people attempting to run around the room. Danijela, as the only sober adult, realizes that it is up to her to restore order and tells Luka to get her up and down the stairs, Tomo to call both sets of parents, Stipe to call the hospital and me to call a taxi, since the entire room is too drunk to drive.

Soon, we manage to perform the needed tasks, the needed participants for the baby's birth are crammed into a taxi and the rest stumbles to the hospital on foot. When we get there, Luka has managed to sober himself up somewhat and is nervously walking around, holding a sleepy Jasna in his arms. He has somehow managed to get permission to be present at the baby's birth, and as soon when he is somewhat steadier on his feet the nurse will let him in. He's still not quite clear-headed, and he's excited, talking non-stop about how great it is to be a father. I lean on the wall and listen to his voice, and even though I can barely understand what he is saying to me I know that he is a great father. He smiles and kisses Jasna on the forehead, runs his hand through her hair – she looks so tiny in his hands even though she's five already.

"Do you have a name for the baby already?" I ask, thinking about my own secret list of future baby names.

"Marija if it is a girl, and Marko if it is a boy." Luka looks down at the sleeping Jasna and kisses her on the forehead. "God, I never thought I could be so happy. I- I don't know how to thank Danijela for all that she went through. I never thought that being a father is such a great feeling. Think about it - tomorrow I will be holding a baby in my hands, a part of me and Danijela, yet a new human being." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Look at me, drunk and thinking grand thoughts-" At this moment, Luka's mother hurries into the room and Luka reluctantly turns Jasna over to her. Luka feels that he is now sober enough and both of us sneak into the maternity ward. We're lucky, because it is late at night, and Danijela is the only one in there. Luka and me sit down next to a pained Danijela, who is in the early stages of labor. She groans as another contraction hits her and tries to find a better position. Luka climbs onto the bed and sits down behind her so she can lean back on him. She scoots down so her head is resting on his lap and moves her knees apart, groaning as another contraction hits her.

"Goga, have I reminded you never to get yourself into the situation?" Danijela puffs and tries to slow her breathing down.

"It'll be fine," Luka says, patting Danijela's hand. She glares at him.

"Luka?"

"What, Danka?"

"If you ever want another child – have it yourself!" she says through clenched teeth.

"It's biologically impossible, Dan- Ow!" He grabs her elbow so she can't hit him in the ribs again.

"Don't antagonize me now," she says, her eyes narrowed. "You did this."

Luka wisely chooses to refrain from further comments and decides to pretend he has temporary hearing loss. After more groans and muffled threats, it turns out that Danijela still has a couple of hours to go before she will be ready to give birth. I sit down on the floor, and lean on the wall, very close to falling asleep. Luka's sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, holding Danijela's hand, and they are humming a song that's annoyingly familiar but the name of which escapes me. Danijela is sweaty and tired, but to Luka she is beautiful, my eyes start to close, and just before I fall asleep Luka leans forward and kisses Danijela on the cheek…

...Marko was born later that night, and the graduation celebration continued as a birthday celebration. Stipe and me were the godparents, wearing our slightly rumpled graduation clothes to his baptism, Luka and Danijela glowing with happiness as Marko gurgled happily in his white christening gown. A week later Stipe, Tomo and I were standing on the steps of the dorm and waving goodbye as their overloaded Yugo turned the corner and disappeared from our sight. In the next year, we all drifted apart, busy with our internships and lives, and soon, we even stopped calling each other. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, we were in the middle of the war. The three of us were more or less out of danger, but Luka was right in the middle of it. I called him, suggested that he should go, but he reassured me that everything would be fine – after all, we had peace for almost fifty years – it was just a small conflict, it would blow over. It didn't. Soon I found out that it was almost impossible to leave the city. Danijela called me one night, sounding tired and nervous, and we talked about the kids, about Luka, and I tried to cheer her up, but even then, she knew. She told me that she felt that she would not survive the year, and hoped fervently that Luka and the children would live.

The news were worse and worse and one day we couldn't get calls through anymore. The news that came after that were troubling, and then one day I woke up to the news that Vukovar has been taken, that God knows what was going on there. I remember that I spent days not going to work, next to the phone, trying to get any information. A week later, I finally got a call, a call that was anything but what I expected. A woman with tired, lifeless voice recited names – Danijela Drvar-Kovac, dead; Jasna Kovac, dead; Marko Kovac, dead; Dr. Luka Kovac, missing. The phone fell out of my hand and I fell down on the floor, too stunned to cry. I just lay there, the phone's dial tone a soundtrack to my confusion, unable to imagine that I would never again see my dear Laki with his beautiful Danka, never again try to braid Jasna's tangled curls or hold my godson Marko. That Luka was not listed as dead seemed a good sign, but missing could mean anything – safe and sound or lying dead on a street.

I called Stipe and Tomo and told them of the news. They drove up, and the three of us sat numbly around my kitchen, our hands clutching glasses of warm alcohol, feeling strangely old for people who were only twenty-seven. Later that day we drove to the house of Luka's parents and drank more with Zoran and Jovanka Kovac as they looked very old and broken, looking with dry, red-rimmed eyes on smiling faces in a photo album and wondering if their son was still alive, or why their grandchildren had to die before them. Days passed, and there still was no news. Despite the grief and war we had to go back to work, to our everyday lives, and we grudgingly went back, returning to our homes with incurable sadness in our hearts. I stared for hours at Luka's smiling face looking back at me from a flyer his sister printed. The war went on. We put up flyers on walls, at hospitals and in stores, we asked refugees from Vukovar whether they had seen him, but no answer came forth. We wondered at night if we would have to go to a funeral the next day. And so it went on, for many days, until the three of us began to forget what his voice sounded like, and could only remember his face from looking at photographs.

Almost a year later his father called me and told me that Luka was alive, but that he didn't want to stay, that he left to live in America. I didn't want to bother him, so I put my memories away and only sometimes recalled the tall, skinny young man with memorable laugh and a funny accent who used to be one of my best friends. I have been getting updates on him from his sister, and when all options for Ante failed and America remained the only choice, I suddenly knew that I could ask Luka for help. He has really put himself on the line - one of the surgeons told me he has paid for a portion of the operation himself and has basically put the operating team together from scratch. Being united by Ante's illness is not quite the joyous reunion I hoped for, but it is a start – perhaps we can rebuild our friendship by keeping in touch this time.

I really wish that we could revert to our old selves, be Laki and Goga for one night – I want to hear his laugh, want to see his face when he smiles, because I need a smile right now, need a smile of an old friend who once was a big part of my life. I get up and walk up the stairs, careful not to make noise. His bedroom door is open, and the light is on. His suitcases are packed, and he is sitting on his bed wearing hideous orange shorts and a T-shirt that seems vaguely familiar, and judging by the holes in it, it probably is, I look closer and recognize it as the T-shirt from the 1984 Winter Olympic Games his brother brought him from Sarajevo. He yawns and looks up, noticing me.

"Goga," he says and smiles, not a full smile but not a grimace either.

"Laki," I echo, sitting down on the bed, ruffling his hair just as I used to do a long time ago. "Be careful." I'd really wish he wouldn't be going to Congo tomorrow – we have had almost no time to talk, and I'm concerned about him. There is something dark about him, something that was not there when I knew him a long time ago.

"I'll be fine," he counters. "It's just another walk in the woods. I've been to Kosovo, to Chechnya, and here I am, still alive, still have all hands and feet." He shows his hands to me as if to prove his statement, and I stare at those hands, still the same hands I remember yet somehow different.

"You should think of yourself sometimes," I say, actually wanting to tell him to stay, to tell me of all these years he has been away, to tell me why no one knows his laugh in America. But some questions can't be asked even by friends.

"I've thought of myself too much, Gordana," he says. "I've been thinking of myself for way too long. I need to think of others – to just save lives and feel like I am saving them."

I put my arm around his shoulders and we just sit there for a very long time, holding each other. I know that the moment I will let go of him might be the last moment I'll see him – I have found out the hard way that one needs to say goodbye every time one parts.

Finally, I have to let go. Luka looks at me and smiles, the smile slightly more genuine this time.

"Well, feel free to stay here for as long as you need. I left money to cover the bills for the next three months. Anne will show you where my car is parked. The keys are on the coffee table, and when you leave, just drop them at the building manager's." I stand up to go but I feel his hand on my arm.

"Goodbye," I manage to get out, suddenly feeling very teary.

Luka embraces me hard, and I put my arms around him, surprised and happy at the same time. We stay still for a moment, and then we part, but not before Luka kisses me on the cheek.

"Good night." He releases me and I go briskly towards the door, trying not to burst into tears. Just as I reach the door, I head him add quietly: "See you soon, Goga."

"Good night, Laki," I say and close the door behind me, now feeling hopeful that everything will turn out all right in the end after all - Laki has returned.

**The End … or is it?**


End file.
